


The Witcher's Apology

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jaskier tells him off, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Some Fluff, anyway, cute ciri, got this idea from tumblr, it's pretty satisfying, pretty canon-compliant, sorry - Freeform, very slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22481347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jaskier is not happy with Geralt, and frankly, who can blame him?Ooh and thanks to UniversalChild for this headcanon. <3
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier/Geralt
Comments: 26
Kudos: 218





	1. Chapter 1

Geralt didn’t speak much, and Ciri sometimes found it unnerving. Sure, he would answer when she asked him questions, but his words were straightforward, no-nonsense. Eventually, the Cintran princess gave up trying to get any real conversation from the witcher. Things felt stale and awkward between them, and Ciri hated it. 

They would sit by the fire at night, and Ciri would ask her companion to tell her stories of slaying monsters. Typically, Geralt would refuse. But if she asked about a specific creature, he would briefly explain it, and the method he used to kill it. An interesting person with an uninteresting personality. That’s all she was finding the witcher to be. She trusted him, of course. But she couldn’t help but miss happiness and fun. 

This dynamic would be forever changed on the day she and Geralt were making their way to a nearby village to seek a place to stay. Since people still were not overly fond of Geralt at first glance… or second, or third… it was natural for them to sleep under the stars. But Ciri had asked him to try to get them a place at an inn, and how could he have said no?

The duo traveled quickly. Ciri would switch between riding horseback and walking beside Geralt, who denied riding, so he could be ready if something were to attack them. Ciri hadn’t argued, and she was more than happy to provide Roach some work if the mare needed it.

A deafening silence hung in the air between the princess and the witcher. It was only interrupted when Ciri heard singing. It was a melancholy tune, carried along with a lute. She tilted her head and leaned forward on Roach’s back. The horse nickered softly at the movement, but did not protest.

Geralt stopped in his tracks, hearing it as well. Ciri half-expected him to draw his sword in defense. Instead, his golden eyes fell dark with something… recognition. He led the two of them through a small clearing in the trees, around a massive pile of boulders to a creek shore. Just across the shimmering freshwater, Ciri saw a man sitting on the bank, strumming a lute. Due to Geralt’s natural caution, the girl was almost nervous as well. 

“ _ A purposeless serf, in the darkness rebirth, recounting old tales and losing her worth _ ,” the man was singing. He had a nice voice, deep and pure, but it was lowered to a murmur. He did not take notice of his audience.

He was wearing a traditional bard’s outfit, holding his lute close to him as if he feared it would abandon him. He hummed between verses, trying to make up the song as he went. Geralt said nothing, just watched the man in silence. But his eyes betrayed him. Ciri could see that Geralt knew exactly who this man was.

She slid off Roach’s back, her shoes clicking and shifting the stones beneath her feet. The sound was enough to alert the bard to their presence. His head darted up at the sound, and his lute slid out of his hands. He rose to his feet and stared right back at Geralt. Desperate to break the silence, Ciri spoke.

“Hey, I loved your song!” she called across the river. 

The man seemed caught off guard by the compliment. He shouldered his lute and crossed the creek to join them. His boots sloshed heavy with water as he did so, but he didn’t seem to mind all that much. When he reached them, he grinned at Ciri.

“Well, well, thank you very much,” he said brightly, offering a hand for her to take. She did, and the man brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “And what may your name be, young lady?”

“I’m Ciri,” the princess answered with a small curtsey. For the first time in a long time, she was smiling brightly. “And this is Geralt. He’s a witcher if you can’t already tell. And this is his horse. Her name is Roach.”

That’s when the bard’s eyes shifted up to Geralt. And his smile faltered slightly. He was able to force it back on and laughed. The smile did not reach his eyes. “Hello, again, Witcher,” he said, and there was a coldness in his voice that didn’t seem to fit him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt acknowledged.

Neither of them spoke to one another again. Instead, Jaskier, as the witcher had called him, looked back to Ciri, the bright, jovial smile returning. It was enough to light up a room. “So where are the two of you headed, miss Ciri?”

“Just to find a place to sleep nearby,” Ciri replied. “Would you like to come with us for a little while? I really want to hear more songs. It’s been a… quiet, journey so far.”

Jaskier’s eyes flickered to Geralt for just a moment, quickly enough to miss it if one weren’t looking close enough. Again, his smile faltered. “Well I wouldn’t want to encroach if our witcher friend is not okay with it,” he gently poked Ciri on the nose, and she couldn’t help but giggle. His smile was just so contagious.

Geralt was watching Ciri. His expression changed slightly when the girl giggled. He turned an irritated look on Jaskier, then back to Ciri, who clasped her hands together and cast him a pleading look. Geralt sighed deeply. “Yes, he can join us if it’s what you’d like.”

“Yes!” Ciri smiled even more brightly. “Can you sing on the way, Jaskier? Please?”

Jaskier mirrored her grin. He began to strum at his lute while Geralt urged Roach to turn around so they could be on their way. For the next few hours, Ciri was amused at Jaskier’s singing. When she wasn’t clapping along to his lute, she was begging him to tell her stories. But all the while, she was overjoyed. Jaskier told her tales of the witcher when they’d first met.

“He defeated a devil once!” Jaskier proclaimed.

“Whoa,” Ciri’s eyes went wide. “That’s incredible.”

Geralt cast Jaskier a side eye. “Yes, it was quite a sight.”

“So were you guys friends or something?” Ciri asked.

Both the witcher and bard went silent. Jaskier took a deep breath. “Yes. Very close friends,” it was a clear lie, as the musician swiftly looked away. 

“Awesome! Geralt, why didn’t you ever tell me about him?” 

Geralt visibly shifted away as they walked. “It was a long time ago. I suppose I assumed those stories were no longer relevant.”

“Yes,” Jaskier agreed. “It’s all in the past.”

Ciri frowned a little, but quickly smiled again when he began another tune on his lute. The rest of the day consisted of the princess and the bard playing games and having a great time on their journey. Geralt remained silent, speaking only occasional words to the bard, and only regarding questions about Ciri. He spoke a typical amount to the princess, and that fact worried her. She sensed something was wrong between Jaskier and Geralt. 


	2. Chapter 2

By the end of the day, when the sun was going down, Geralt had decided they would pursue an inn the night after this one. Instead, he declared they should make camp. He voiced this to Ciri, who seemed a bit disappointed.

“Aw, come on. There’s nothing quite like sleeping in the beautiful outdoors,” Jaskier told her. “I bet another night of camping is just what we need.”

That convinced her well enough, and the trio began setting up for the night. After a few more songs and one last tale of the witcher’s former conquest, Ciri yawned. 

“Sleep now,” Geralt told her. “You need energy for the trip to the village tomorrow.”

Obediently, the girl laid down on her bedroll and fell asleep to a soft, crooning lullaby from her new friend. Her breathing slowed and she turned on her back, away from the fire Geralt had created. He sat on one side of it, sharpening a blade, and Jaskier sat on the other, poking and prodding at the fire with such intensity that Geralt was nearly intimidated. Nearly.

When the girl had fallen asleep, another heavy blanket of silence fell over the air. It was such a sharp contrast to the bright singing and joyful conversation of the day that Geralt was unsettled by it. And there was something else to. The silence burned him. He wanted to speak, to say something, and at the same time he wanted nothing more than to keep quiet. For so long, they sat. Quietly. Not a word uttered between them. 

Eventually Jaskier stood up and began to brush off his bedroll. 

Geralt could not take it any longer. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, breaking the hefty silence. After he spoke, his words floated in the air, and he wondered if he could grab them and take them back. 

The bard raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at the witcher.

“It’s all in the past,” Jaskier reiterated, emotionlessly.

Geralt didn’t seem satisfied with that response, and so tried again. “No, Jaskier, listen. I’m sorry about what I said to you in-”

“You listen,” Jaskier said sharply, and the words were a knife that countered Geralt’s. “I don’t want you to bring this up now. This is not the time, nor the place. I have no call to forgive you, no desire to do as such. Do you understand me?”

Geralt’s golden eyes caught the light of the fire, and they shimmered as the flames twisted against the wind. “I... understand.”

But the bard was not finished. “Tell me what is it you understand? Is it that I won’t forgive you? Or is it what exactly I will not forgive you for?”

When he got no response, Jaskier moved closer to Geralt and sat down in front of him, glaring into his eyes. “Yes, yes. My singing is wet shit, I somehow always need to be rescued, and if I don’t shut my mouth, we end up in trouble. Yes, I get that. I understand how much I annoy you, witcher. It’s not new information for me. It was the cause of many people I loved abandoning me. But then you came along, and you didn’t.

You left me because you needed a punching bag. Someone to blame after your pretty heart was broken. It wasn’t my fault and you knew it. You wanted to bind her life to yours through magic you shouldn’t have used. It wasn’t my fault. I wanted to help you. To lighten the mood, just a little bit. To remind you that I was your friend. And you turned on me like a hungry dog to a loyal master.

And Ciri? It’s not my fault that you’re the idiot that chose the law of surprise over a little coin. None of this is my fault. And what did you do to me?”

Jaskier was trembling, breathing quickly against the wind. His eyes were slightly wet, and he looked away. Then he laughed, just a little.

“I could continue forever, Geralt. But this is not why I will not forgive you. I could have lived with it, because we were both tired. You were frustrated and hurt. I left to let you clear your mind. To give you the space you’d been asking for.

It wasn’t the first time you were cruel to me. It wasn’t the first time I let you speak to me out of turn. But something changed between us that day: I left, and you never followed me. After a decade of traveling together, most would assume we’d be close enough to get over a petty fight. I thought we’d be friends, or… I don’t know! I just thought maybe you’d find me. But you never did. You could have just asked, Geralt, and I would have come back. But you went on your merry way and never thought of me again.

And when you saw me at that creek, I saw your face. You were seconds away from bolting like a frightened deer in the lantern light. But you stayed for Ciri… not for me. I know you never wanted to see me again, because you were fucking scared of me. Of having this exact conversation. Let me save you the trouble. I don’t want to speak of it.”

Jaskier got up and began fixing his sleeping space up again. Geralt was just watching him, listening to all of this. Jaskier clicked his tongue and spoke passively as he worked.

“We are not friends, witcher. I’m not sure we ever were, at least in your eyes. So you can take any apology you have to offer and shove it up your ass. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it. I’m only here because Ciri asked me to be. I think she deserves someone who can make her happy. Finally, something I can do that you never can. Anyway. It’s all in the past, good night.”

Jaskier laid down and slept. He slept restlessly, twisting and turning. His face was contorted throughout the night with anger and pain. Eventually, Geralt stopped staring at him and turned his eyes to the fire. He realized Jaskier was absolutely right about everything… except the fact that Geralt had never seen him as a friend.

The truth was, Geralt had deeply missed the bard. And when he saw him on that creek bank, he was scared because he knew that no matter how he apologized, Jaskier would never accept it. But the witcher knew his words would fall flat and he wasn’t sure what else to say. 

He felt eyes on his back and glanced at Ciri. Her eyes were trained on him, and she’d obviously heard the entire thing. She looked at Jaskier, then Geralt again. “I can help you fix this,” she whispered, her words swallowed up by the wind before they reached the other side of camp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you want me to continue. Idk I have plot ideas sooo...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the overwhelming praise this got, I found the motivation to update the same day. Thank you so much you guys!

The next morning, Ciri woke to Jaskier singing a song he hadn’t sung the day before. He was singing quietly, to himself. “ _ If this is the path I must trudge, I welcome my sentence… _ ” he trailed off when he found the girl watching him. He set his lute down, leaning it against the rock upon which he sat. He gave her a smile, but behind it was heavy sadness. Ciri found herself wishing she could help him be rid of it.

“Ah, she rises,” he stood up and offered her a hand up. The princess took it without hesitation and allowed the bard to help her to her feet. “Sleep well?”

“Better than you,” Ciri looked at Jaskier with concern and pity. She’d heard everything from the night before and knew how hurt her new friend really was. “Where is Geralt?” she scanned the surrounding woods. Both the witcher and his horse were nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like him to disappear without telling her.

“He’s off hunting,” Jaskier spoke of the witcher with a certain bitterness. 

Ciri stood up and sat on the log lying adjacent to the smoldering fire pit. She stared at the ground for a moment, then gestured for Jaskier to join her. Reluctantly, he did. Ciri considered what she wanted to say.

“I know things aren’t perfect between him and you. I know they may not ever be again. But if there’s one thing I learned about Geralt from traveling with him, it’s that he doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say. He’ll try, and he’ll grow frustrated when he fails. My suggestion is to give him a second chance and listen to his actions rather than his words. Maybe they’ll say something more.”

Jaskier looked down. They were wise words from someone so young. But Jaskier had tried to trust the witcher’s actions before. And they’d gotten him abandoned and alone. They’d lost him his only friend. He was unsure if he could ever trust anything Geralt said or did again. Instead of replying, he poked again at the fire pit.

Ciri shrugged. “Think about it, will you? Will you promise to think about it?”

“Yes.”

With that, the girl stood up and began rolling up her sleeping bags and blankets. Geralt’s sleeping area was already clean and tidy, as though he’d never been there. He was firm on covering all traces. Being tracked seemed to be a paranoia of his. Ciri was picking up a few such habits.

Jaskier rolled up his blankets and tossed them into his bag. He sat back down and toyed with his lute, absently tuning the strings. He and Ciri were quiet for a bit, until they heard branches shifting against one another. There were crunching noises as boots rhythmically tapped against the ground, cracking a stick here and there. Ciri was instantly on edge. Geralt moved much more silently. 

She drew her dagger, and Jaskier rose to his feet. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Ciri didn’t answer, just held up her blade and stared into the dense woods, watching and waiting. Finally, a tall and dark figure emerged. 

“Geralt,” she breathed a sigh of relief as the witcher approached them.

“Yes, Ciri. Hello, and hello, Jaskier. Good to see you both up and early,” he rubbed his head as if it ached. There was something off about the way he was standing. Instead of his typical alert posture, his shoulders sagged and he slouched his neck. 

Jaskier looked at Geralt with something in his eyes that Ciri could not read. It wasn’t bitterness or distance… no. It was… suspicion. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier frowned. “Where’s Roach?”

“Oh, who can say? Probably ran off because she was hungry,” Geralt took a step closer.

Jaskier turned his head slightly, gently putting a hand on Ciri’s shoulder and moving her to stand behind him, a protective gesture. “Geralt, how did we meet?”

Geralt’s golden eyes narrowed, and he took another step. “What’s the meaning of such an idiotic question?”

“Answer,” Jaskier said, glaring. There was an intensity in his expression that Ciri had not yet seen on the bard’s face. His shoulders drew up in a defensive position, and he kept a hand in front of Ciri. She noticed it was shaking slightly.

When the imitation was unable to answer the question, its calm demeanor melted into rage. Geralt's face contorted with anger, more emotion than the princess had ever seen on his stern face . Ciri watched in horror as Geralt's body convulsed and twisted, golden eyes slipped into white pits. Geralt’s skin turned gray and his body morphed into a massive beast with dripping yellowed fangs and a maw full of blood.

“A changeling,” Ciri whispered in horror, pulling her dagger close to herself. Geralt hadn’t had time to teach her much, but what she’d learned she would not forget. 

“Ciri,” Jaskier spoke low as the monster snarled at them. “Run. Run as fast and as far as you can. Now!” he gave her a little push to urge her away. 

“I’m not leaving you,” she insisted.

“Now is not the time to be a hero. Go!” he ordered. 

The changeling did not waste time. It did not come for a bard. It came for a princess. And come hell or high water, it would have her. The creature let out a roar and charged the girl, massive paws ready to tear her apart. Each digit had a long, gnarled black claw growing from it. The elongated snout came down towards the girl, and thankfully, Jaskier was faster than he looked.

He grabbed Ciri and yanked her to the side, disorienting the changeling for just a moment. Long enough to shout at Ciri again while the beast recovered from its crash to the ground. It snarled at Jaskier when it realized he'd taken its meal away.

“This monster is not after me! Run! Find Geralt!” Jaskier grabbed one of Geralt’s spare blades from the pack he’d left behind and turned to face their massive opponent. The creature was twice as tall as the musician and looked absolutely feral as Ciri finally obediently ran into the woods, shouting the witcher’s name. The changeling seemed to realize the easier target was now the bard, as its full attention shifted.

Jaskier was left staring down a monster in the forest, all alone. 


	4. Chapter 4

The bard knew this would likely be his end. And unlike Geralt, he would have no one to recount his epic tale. Jaskier had learned a bit about combat from Geralt in the decade of traveling with him, but he’d never thought he would have to put it to use. The changeling didn’t give him much time to reflect on his next move before its jaws snapped at him and its claws flew towards him, outstretched. 

Without thinking, Jaskier swung the rapier. It barely made contact the changeling’s shoulder, and it didn’t go more than a few inches below the skin. The creature howled, but it had gotten close enough to Jaskier to take a few swipes at him with its claws. The first two fortunately missed, but the third struck Jaskier in the shoulder, dragging all the way down to the bottom of his ribs.

The pain didn’t set in right away, thanks to the adrenaline, so Jaskier was able to take a second swing before he started feeling it. This time the blade slashed its way across the changeling’s neck, just below the vital artery. 

At that point, Jaskier staggered, then collapsed. The changeling, albeit slowed down by the wound, started to drag itself towards Jaskier. It raised its claws one more time to take what would surely be the final strike. 

Just as the changeling brought its claws down, a sword sliced clean through its leg, severing it. The sword twisted around, right through the monster’s jugular. Blood spurted, and in moments, the changeling was on the ground, convulsing. Both Jaskier and the wielder of the sword were showered with blood.

Jaskier looked up as Geralt wiped off his sword with his glove and slid it into its sheath. The blood loss overtook him then, and he passed out.

Geralt dropped to his knees beside Jaskier and shook him, none too gently. “Jaskier!” he shouted. He already had produced a cloth from his satchel and was pressing it firmly against the gaping claw marks in Jaskier’s chest. “Ciri!”

The princess raced around to his side. “What, what can I do?”

“Keep your hand there,” Geralt instructed, clicking his tongue and calling Roach over to them. The horse trotted up to stand beside her master, and Geralt hoisted Jaskier onto the horse. He gave Ciri a gentle boost to sit on the horse behind Jaskier. She placed her hands around his waist to once again apply pressure to his chest.

“There’s a healer in the next town,” the witcher announced. “Keep holding onto him. If he starts to slouch, tell me immediately. I don’t want him falling off the horse and dragging you along with him.”

“Are you... worried about him?” Ciri smirked a bit, recalling her promise to help him mend his relationship with Jaskier… perhaps she wouldn’t need to.

Geralt didn’t answer. Instead he pulled a bit harder on Roach’s bridle, urging the horse to speed up. As they picked up their pace, Ciri smiled at Geralt’s back. She pressed her hands closer to Jaskier’s chest and whispered to him. 

“He’s totally worried about you,” she was almost giddy.

The rest of the trip to the town was quick and silent. Geralt seemed to be walking as quickly as he could get his horse to move. They came into a quiet village, only a handful of people at their daily chores. Geralt scanned each of the buildings quickly. Most of them could be considered ramshackle at best. 

The witcher led his horse to the tie-out post outside of the local healer’s shack. The building was even more run-down than the others, and the door hung lopsided and ajar. Geralt didn’t bother tying Roach, just reach up and pulled Jaskier down beside him. He looped the bard’s arm around his shoulders and dragged him inside, Ciri close behind.

A man dressed in typical peasant fashion was drying his hands on an old cloth when Geralt stormed in. The only tell that he was a doctor was the herb pouch around his belt. His eyes widened slightly at his clients.

“A witcher?” he seemed more shocked by Geralt’s presence than the potentially fatal wound Jaskier had received. After the initial surprise, he walked over and looked Jaskier up and down for a moment. “That’s quite a nasty wound. Please, lay him down here,” the doctor gestured to the medical table in the corner.

Geralt lifted Jaskier up over his shoulder, and he was shockingly gentle upon putting him down. He stood up straight to address the doctor. “I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

“Glad to hear it,” the doctor pulled Jaskier’s shirt up over his head. He surveyed the wound for a few moments. “The most I can do is stitch them up and cover them. He’s lost a lot of blood so I can’t make any promises.”

Geralt was instantly reminded of the last time Jaskier had almost died under his watch. He’d said some terrible things before that. It was no different this time. He glared at the doctor. “Do what you can. And do it quickly.”

The man began to work, and Geralt and Ciri left him to it. They went outside and leaned back against the tie-out post, where Roach waited patiently. Ciri took a deep breath.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” she sounded more as if she were trying to convince herself.

Geralt looked up to the clouds. “He will,” he answered, his voice unusually soft. 

“After all this, we should, all of us, do something fun. These past few weeks have been chaotic and I think we should get at least one day to relax,” Ciri said softly. 

“Good idea,” Geralt surprised her by agreeing. He seemed distant, and yet she knew he was listening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect this to blow up, and yet here we are. Thanks for the support everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

It was several hours later when Jaskier finally began to stir. Geralt and Ciri had come back from the marketplace just in time, though the latter was dozing off in her chair. It had been a long morning, and this was the first time since seeing the changeling that Ciri truly felt safe. She had been shaken since then, but Geralt had managed to, somehow, ease her conscience. He explained how to tell if someone was a changeling. 

“Their eyes don’t catch the light,” he’d said. “Their eyes aren’t reflective. That’s how you know. You weren’t looking for it, so you didn’t notice.”

Now she laid curled up on a wooden bench next to him. Geralt was exhausted himself, but he didn’t voice it. He also didn’t allow himself to fall asleep. He wanted to talk to Jaskier right away. He’d thought of some things he wanted to say while he was searching for food. 

When Jaskier finally stirred and slowly opened his eyes, he seemed confused. He seemed surprised when he was able to take in his situation. His eyes met Geralt’s, and the ghost of a smile flickered on, then off. He looked away. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt spoke quietly. “Thank you. For what you did for Ciri.”

Jaskier’s head darted back to the witcher. “What?”

“Thank you,” Geralt repeated, and his voice was earnest. “You saved her.”

Jaskier considered that, then nodded in acknowledgement. “I mean, yeah, I guess I kind of did. How the tables have turned then, witcher. The incredibly handsome and now heroic bard saves the day.”

Geralt decided to let him have this one. “Yes. That’s very ironic.”

Jaskier grinned in a playfully smug manner. And for a moment, it seemed that everything was okay between the duo. But after a few seconds of silence, Jaskier was reminded of the grudge he felt no obligation to let go. He laid his head back and gazed at the ceiling.

“Is this it then, Jaskier? Are you going to hate me for the rest of your life?” Geralt looked away from the bard, wrists resting on his knees. Ciri shifted in her sleep and her head fell onto Geralt’s shoulder.

Jaskier gave him a look, but he was silent for several seconds. “No, Geralt. I never hated you. I likely never can. I think I mentioned last night you were the first real friend I had… and even that wasn’t real. But that isn’t the point. I told you I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can’t you respect one thing I ask of you?”

Geralt opened his mouth to contest it, but Ciri was sitting up by then, and she elbowed Geralt, ducking her head behind his shoudler only to nod it vigorously. “Tell him you will!” she whispered screamed. Thankfully, Jaskier seemed to be too busy sulking to really listen to her. 

“I can. I’ll respect that,” Geralt said quickly. 

“Thank you,” the gratitude was sharp and clearly full of resentment, but it had some form of acceptance behind it. 

“So how do you feel?” Ciri asked.

“Like my entrails have fallen out,” the bard replied. “Like a thousand fiery blades cast from pure lava to shred apart the life force within me. The sweet absence of agony gives way to the pounding ache of my heroic deed. Heroism. It is a painful fate, is it not?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, only to receive another elbow to the ribs from the princess. He cast a small smirk towards the bard, but it was very slight. “How incredibly poetic,” he said, and his voice was mostly filled with sarcasm. Ciri smiled at the effort, reminding herself. Baby steps. She still had time to fix this, like she’d promised.

Jaskier, however, beamed at the snide compliment. “Yes it is!”

Ciri giggled. “So what do we do now?”

Geralt seemed to consider that, and he glanced up at the small window, which barely broke the din of the room with a small stream of daylight. “We’ll keep traveling. We’ll keep going until you are old enough to select an army and take back Cintra. You’re going to need quite a lot of training until that moment comes around.”

“Jaskier can come with us right?” Ciri turned puppy dog eyes on her companion, latching a hand around the bard’s wrist. 

“If he feels up to travel,” Geralt’s statement was a question, as two sets of eyes turned to Jaskier. The bard made a show of attempting to sit up, but immediately hissed in pain and fell back, placing a hand over the wound in his chest. 

“I can manage,” he spoke softly. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt warned. “Don’t push yourself. You can just as well come find us once you are strong enough.”

“I could never find you,” Jaskier snapped. “Do you know how long I’d tried?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, sorry gang


	6. Chapter 6

Ciri had given Geralt another warning elbow before he could respond to Jaskier. He seemed irritated, but it fell into a sigh as he realized the girl was right. He’d already tried his show of snapping at the bard. A new tactic felt in order.

“Fine. Jaskier can join us,” he looked away. 

Jaskier smirked, and the look was smug, but there was some sort of pleasant surprise behind it. Ciri also grinned, and Geralt placed his palms on his knees and pushed himself into a standing position. He walked outside to breathe in the cold air. He needed some time to think. 

All the witcher had wanted was solitude. Or that’s what he’d always told himself. He had been just fine killing monsters, collecting enough coin to survive, and then moving to the next town that would inevitably hate him. He leaned against a pillar and looked up at the sky. 

No sooner had his tense shoulders finally fallen, Geralt heard Ciri’s ear-piercing scream.

Geralt’s sword was drawn and he was storming back into the small facility before he could possibly think. “I leave her alone for five minutes,” he grumbled, allowing himself to be angry at the universe for this. 

Surely enough, a few cloaked figures crowded the room, having come in through the window. One of them had an arm cinched around Ciri’s neck, his free hand holding a blade to her throat. The girl was shaking, but didn’t move. It took Geralt only another second to see them forcing Jaskier to his knees as the bard struggled to get to Ciri, pain evident on his face.

“Give up, witcher. You can’t possibly save them both.”

Geralt’s golden eyes flickered from Jaskier to Ciri, desperately trying to think of something. Jaskier met his gaze, and he caught the bard’s blue eyes dart rapidly to the bed. Geralt followed his gesture, and he caught the gleam of a small knife, hiding underneath the bed. His nod was too subtle to be seen.

The witcher took a slow step forward, so his left foot was concealed by the bedpost. 

“Make no movement, witcher!” shouted the man holding Ciri. He pushed the knife down enough to draw a tiny drop of blood. She whimpered. 

Jaskier made a show of struggling again to distract the men momentarily as Geralt slid the knife close enough to him to grab it. He waited for the right second, but was then thrown off his plan when one of the men brought the handle of his knife down full force on Jaskier’s temple. He grunted in pain but made no further movements.

Geralt felt newfound rage as he put the plan into motion. He kicked the knife up into the air and grabbed it, wasting no time to hurl it. The blade struck true, burying itself in the throat of the man who restrained Ciri. Instantly, she burst out of his grip and ran to stand behind Geralt, who furiously raised his sword.

“Let the bard go, or the same thing will happen to the likes of you,” Geralt was bluffing, and he definitely had no more knives.

They, thankfully, did not call the bluff and dropped Jaskier, who landed hard on his hands and knees. One of them pulled down their hood to reveal a beautiful young woman with sleek auburn hair. Her fright spread into a wide, knowing grin. 

“Lights out, witcher,” she sneered.

Before Geralt could figure out what she meant, a blunt object struck the back of his head, and it took only seconds for him to collapse into darkness. 

Geralt came to in the same place he’d been knocked out. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious, but the first thing he saw was Jaskier. The bard was sitting upright, back leaning heavily against the wall. It was dark in the room. Jaskier was looking at the window like it had betrayed him in some way.

“Jaskier!” Geralt pounced to his feet. “Where’s Ciri?”

Jaskier looked shocked for a moment, then his gaze softened into pity. Geralt standing up so suddenly caused the witcher’s head to throb and his stomach to turn. But he didn’t care. He glared desperately at Jaskier.

“Where. Is. She?” he snarled, forgetting everything he and Jaskier had been working to fix. The only thing on his mind right then was the girl.

“Geralt, I-”

“Where is she!?” he shouted.

“Gone. They took her. I tried, Geralt. I did everything I could,” Jaskier’s blue eyes lingered on the window. And he wasn’t lying. His face was gashed and bruised, he cradled his left arm. He’d clearly been beat to hell and back. 

But Geralt wasn’t thinking about that. 

“No!” he slammed his fist into the wall, and no surprise, it went right through the rotting wood, letting a sliver of moonlight in. 

“This isn’t your fault,” Jaskier said gently. “We’ll get her back.”

“No, Jaskier. This isn’t my fault!” he shouted. “Once again, it’s your fault. If we hadn’t met up with you again, none of this would have happened! I’m not surprised to say you’ve repeatedly fucked everything beyond repair. But this time, you’ve really done it.”

If the witcher weren't so furious, the absolute heartbreak and devastation in Jaskier’s eyes would have made him feel guilty. For the bard, he was reliving the last time he’d seen the man that constituted his only friend. And this time, he couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, nor his vision from blurring.

Geralt didn’t say a word. His shoulders were shaking.

“If this isn’t a familiar story!” Jaskier pushed himself up along the wall, wincing in pain as he did so. “I save your girl, nearly get killed for her twice, do everything I can possibly do for you, and you still take out your failure on me!”

“My failure?” Geralt snarled. “Mine? If not for you, Ciri and I would be well on our way to the next town. They would never have caught up with us. This is your greatest fuck up since meeting me, Jaskier! You’re like a magnet for poison and strife.”

Jaskier stopped in his tracks. His voice broke as he limped towards the door. “My greatest fuck up since meeting you was thinking with any shred of my being that maybe you could change!” he slammed the door behind him as he managed to walk mostly upright. Geralt glanced out the window long enough to see the bard disappear into the tavern across the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmm. Told you there'd be angst. Lmao.


End file.
